


Please Come with Me

by laDouleurExquise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Alternate Universe- London in the 60's, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Drabble, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laDouleurExquise/pseuds/laDouleurExquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in London's 60's, Stiles and Derek have been coworkers at a successful magazine and friends with benefits for the past few months. It's their last night together before Derek moves out of the city and Stiles- well, Stiles is not okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Come with Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna emphasize that Derek does not return Stiles' feelings, which is why he might come off as a bit of an asshole. Have to mention that this is a very personal work, so apologies if he's a tad on the OOC side.

He was drifting away, his half-lidded eyes locked on the clock on the nightstand. It read 5.03 and he felt boneless. His tiredness weighed heavily on his chest, pinning him down against the mattress.

He could hear Derek just outside the room, meddling about, in and out of the bathroom on the hallway.

 And therein lied the reason of Stiles’ stubbornness to push sleep away. Him.

_Tomorrow – tomorrow – tomorrow._

_This was it._

The door opened and usually, Stiles would pretend to be asleep already, just to spare Derek the small talk, but now-

Now he looked him straight in the eye as Derek entered the dark room and closed the door behind him. The older man caught his eyes – the glint of the almost burnt out candles reflected in them - and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“You okay?” he asked courteously. He had a fresh shirt on and Stiles could smell his fragrance all the way from underneath the warmth of his blanket. 

He didn’t answer, merely acknowledging his question with a slight nod of the head. Derek mirrored him in understanding, but pressed on as he moved to his writing desk, shuffling through papers, “You can’t sleep? Thought you said you were tired.”

Stiles was tempted to roll his eyes. Not necessarily at him, but at this predicament. How fucking typical. He had a lot of things to say to Derek and this was the perfect time, but he was so crushingly tired that words would come out jumbled anyway. After all, he needed to make himself clear this time.

“I was waiting for you,” Stiles chose to comment instead.

Derek must’ve been confused about what Stiles said, because he suddenly turned his head towards him, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed in concentration.

“I said, I was waitin-“

“Yeah no, I heard you the first time,” Derek was quick to interrupt him, though without spite, “but yeah, you don’t have to. You can go to sleep.”

Bug-eyed, Stiles looked at him incredulously. Perhaps, it was time.

He cleared his throat. “Would you rather have me go home?”

Derek swiveled in his chair, turning completely to face him this time, the same quizzical visage gracing Stiles. “Of course not. That’s not what I meant anyway. You’re tired, I wouldn’t send you home.”

“Ah,” Stiles weakly pointed at him, almost satisfied to prove a point that was not there to begin with.

Derek’s chuckle followed and it was nervous, Stiles noticed. It wasn’t guilty, but rather ashamed that he was missing something. Always cordial, that one.

“Sorry, I don’t follow. Did I do something wrong?”

“There’s no wrong in one’s true intentions. Especially when one is blunt about them.” Stiles was playing with him, wouldn’t grant him the courtesy of a straight answer. No one could blame his really, he thought, as late March nights came to mind. He would go on drunken rants about the injustice that women have hot ironed on the male emotional intelligence. Well, there you go, a chance to prove him wrong.

It was silent for a moment too long. Stiles scrutinized the crease in his brow and the squint of the eyes that betrayed too much struggling for five in the morning. He gave him time and took his to admire the jut of his collarbone raising at pace with his breathing. He was a beautiful man. Truly, he was.

“In what way have I offended you?” Derek chose to safely ask.

Stiles pushed himself up then, sat up straight, leaning against the headboard. He patted his tangled hair best to his ability and mentally pated himself on the back. He could do this.

“You have not offended me in any manner. Your honesty and lack of tricks are the highest appraisals that you could have brought me,” he started in a steady voice that he was most proud of.

“Why are you talking like Jane Austen again,” Derek interrupted yet again, but it seemed that his amusement could not have been reigned.

He does that sometimes, Derek was right. It was his way of keeping things within boundaries and keeping himself in a clear mental state. And indeed, it was amusing more than anything, but it gave an illusion of control.

But right then, his comment did nothing else than twist a knife in a wound that was not supposed to be there. He just knew. The younger man forced a small laugh out of his throat but it got stuck in his lungs. All that came out was an inaudible sound that would have rather resembled a choke.

“I’m going somewhere with this, but pardon me when I can’t just come out and say it. You need to understand where I’m coming from. I am, after all, still afraid of how this will look to you.” It was an apology and a request to bear with him. He looked with pleading eyes at Derek, as if trying to compel him to care for once.

“Okay. You don’t have to be afraid of me though. I will listen,” Derek said as he leaned back against his chair and folded his arms expectantly. The room seemed small all of a sudden.

“I trust that you will not flee the room, yes,” Stiles teased lightly just to take away some of the tension that inevitably settled in.

Derek nodded with a small smile.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Stiles stated.

There was a pause, as Derek tried to figure out where Stiles was going with it but he replied nonetheless.

“Yes.” And it tasted like a question rather than a confirmation.

 “After you leave,” he licked his lips, “would you be terribly offended if I deleted you completely out of my life?”

Derek looked torn between laughing at the predicament and acting gravely.

“If that’s what you want, of course, sure, go ahead. You’re free to do whatever you please. Who am I to tell you what or what not to do,” he shot back as he settled with a slight bounce to his voice. But he wasn’t liking where this was going, Stiles could feel it.

 “That’s not what I asked. I asked about your reaction. How would you feel? _What_ would you feel?” Stiles pressed.

Derek opened his mouth to reply, but he closed it not a moment later. He seemed confused about himself as well. He searched Stiles’ face, still trying to catch on with what he was aiming at.

“Is this about us? Our relationship? Will _you_ miss me, Stiles?”

And that set him off.

“Of course I will,” the younger man threw his hands up in frustration, “but that’s not-, what kind of-, really? Really?”

“Stiles. What is your problem? Just tell me already,” Derek’s voice was still calm, but his tone got increasingly somber.

“Maybe if you would stop answering my questions with your own questions, we would get somewhere. I’m not playing with you. I’m not asking all this shit just for kicks.”

Derek made a show out of zipping his mouth shut and raising his eyebrows in an almost challenging way.

“Okay. Answer me this – really give me an answer,” Stiles emphasized, “do you see me as a person?”

“Yes, Stiles, of course I do. Do you feel like I’m not?” It was almost hilarious how defeated Derek sounded. The question was so ridiculous that he just settled with indulging the younger man.

“Yes, yes I do feel like you don’t see me as a person. And that’s what I don’t get-“

Affronted, Derek instantly opened his mouth to argue, but Stiles shushed him with a finger. “That’s what I don’t get because don’t get me wrong. I _am_ used to being treated like an object, like a hole that guys can stick their dicks into. And I’m fine with it. _I_ chose it. And with you it would have been no different. The fact that we became regulars wouldn’t have changed that. But you know what did?”

And Stiles stopped then. He gazed into Derek’s eyes and he suddenly felt more vulnerable than he ever did in his whole life. He felt young, like a little boy that sought love in hopeless places at wrong times. Because that’s what he wanted in the end didn’t he? To feel loved for once.

Derek searched his eyes with fiery anticipation.

“You know what changed?” Stiles continued in a whisper, “the things that you say.”

Derek got up from his chair, not breaking eye-contact for a second, and sat down on the bed next to him. Stiles unconsciously pressed against the headboard, lowering his head to escape the intrusiveness of his stare. “The things that I say,” Derek echoed him.

Stiles nodded, chocked with feelings. It felt like he had opened Pandora’s Box. Their own personal box full of despair and unspoken rules and forbidden words.

“You’re not like the others. You got to me. You got in my head. You got under my skin. You praised me. My brain, my insightfulness, my passions, my dreams, my secrets, my heart. Never my looks. You _showed_ me how much I appeal to you. Through your touches, and caresses, and kisses, and-“he swallowed, finally finding his eyes again, “-and the way you would breathe me in. And I can feel how much you lose yourself in me. And sometimes I think that it’s a bit too much. That you forget that I’m me. And maybe you wish it were someone else, I don’t know. And that’s when I feel that-“

“That you don’t see me as a person,” Stiles finished with a shrug. This was it. It was out.

Derek shifted, but didn’t say anything at first. Perhaps he was torn, or perhaps the severity of his words was unexpected. It showed that he cared, Stiles assumed, the fact that he didn’t kick him out yet. But then again, that would have been a hit to his ego. He’s a good guy after all. Stiles waited for his reaction with his heart and lungs and stomach in his throat.

It never came. Not for a while. The candles burnt out. The music stopped.

“Tsk,” Derek finally vocalized, running a hand through his still-wet hair. Stiles’ heart was drumming so breathtakingly that he almost squeezed his chest so that Derek wouldn’t see it prod through his chest. He felt guilty for putting him in this position, “Look, you don’t have to excuse yourself or anything. I just wanted you to know because I think I would want to know in your place. And I do try to look after myself more, because it’s true, I don’t feel goo-, I don’t feel like I should feel anymore, Derek.”

He gave him an out. Yet again.

“I thought you knew,” Derek darted his eyes around the room.

Stiles frowned, “Knew what?”

“Yeah. This thing was-“he gesticulated wordless, “-I mean this whole meeting and stuff. It was just sex. And, of course, I like you. And I do see you as a person. I wouldn’t sleep with you otherwise. I don’t do that.”

_That wasn’t the point._

“That’s not the point. Of course I know this was just sex or whatever. I never had expectations. I didn’t want a relationship. But as you said, I do like you as well. As a person. You’re a good guy. And do you,” Stiles licked his lips, “-do you remember our conversations? Do you remember how much we used to talk? Where did that go?”

“These weeks have been weird for me, Stiles.”

He stared. What did that have to-

“Yes, moving, I know. Regardless, this thing has been going on for months and I feel like I’m not allowed to have an opinion nor am I allowed to show emotion. I never had an opinion or a choice with you.”

“What do you mean? You could have always said no, Stiles,” Derek retaliated.

Stiles shook his head vehemently, “I never wanted to say no. But. If I wanted to meet, if I wanted something –anything- you would always say no. So, of course, when I’m at your disposal, every night after twelve, when you’re drunk and feel like a lay, how do you think I feel? Because again, I do want to see you, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling used.”

“I can understand that. And I’m sorry you felt that way. That wasn’t my intention,” Derek replied in a defeated manner.

Stiles knew that of course. He knew that it wasn’t Derek’s intention. After all, who would do that on purpose? Certainly not a guy like him. But it did feel good to hear it aloud. Still, that barely scratched the surface.

“Thank you for apologizing, Derek. But in the end, it’s just who you are, you know? Because what you have been doing, that wasn’t done out of spite or anything remotely close to it. It’s just how you are – detached. You look after yourself and what you want. Even if you see me as a person and even if you like me, it doesn’t change the fact that it ends there. You don’t care about me. You like me because I appeal to you. But I’m not someone that you would give a second thought about. And I guess that’s what I have to accept even if it hurts me so much. So, so, so much,” He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt so sick. Like he has been living a lie and feeding on an illusion.

“All I wanted was for someone to care. And I really thought that you would be that person. For once in my life,” he whispered.

And he was done. Everything was out. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. Derek will be gone and he’ll stay. So he just buried his head in his drawn up knees and waited for the moment to pass. They’ll go to sleep, Stiles will get up in the morning, they’re gonna have one last goodbye, and he’ll leave and Derek will stay.

“Oh, Stiles,” he heard Derek’s pitiful half-moan. The mattress shifted under his weight as he moved over Stiles’ form and hugged him at the most awkward angle. Stiles immediately raised his head and sought Derek’s neck. Even now.

“I don’t want your charity, Derek,” came his muffled complaint.

Derek put his cheek on the top of his head and caressed his back soothingly. “I will ask for yours then.”

Stiles was silent for a few moments, because what he had just mumbled gave a whole new meaning to everything.

“Have we been wasting time, then?” he dared to ask eventually.

“I would rather not think about that. Though I am sorry for how things have transpired for you, I can’t say that it would have made a difference. You are right to say that it’s how I am. Indeed, I have always been like this. And I regret that one more had to get the burnt of it.”

“What would have made a difference then? Why did it come to this?” he whispered in his collarbone with a kiss.

“But Stiles, what difference are you talking about? I’m just asking. How would you have liked for this to end?” he tilted his head slightly to try to get a peek at his eyes.

Stiles drew back then, giving himself fully to him. His hands found Derek’s face and he held the universe that was him between his palms.

And he just stared deeply into the shallow waters of his irises, trying to take in the image of him as it was right there, in that moment, looking at him, for what it seemed like the first time. Take in the image and never ever forget it. Derek’s hands covered Stiles’ out of instinct and Stiles wondered if they looked like a real couple.

“I gave you what was left of me. And it’s not fair that someone should have this responsibility of mending a teared soul and then caring for it until it grows back. Like a sun would do to a flower,” Stiles chuckled like he was delirious.

His pupils were dilated. He wanted Derek. It was fire in his veins. A fire fueled by desperation. He could feel him slipping away like butter between his fingers on an August afternoon. 

So Stiles dived forward and kissed him with a power and determination that was almost reminiscent of their first night. Almost.

Derek let him have his way for once, but it was short-lived as he pushed him gently back eventually, his lips branded to Derek’s for just a second longer though.

“Stiles,” he began in a teasing admonish, “I would like for you to answer what I asked you. How would you have liked for it to end?”

“It’s funny how you say it - as if it has already ended.”

Derek furrowed his brows in mock annoyance but remained silent.

“Ha, fine,” Stiles drew back completely, settling against the bedframe and choosing to stare out the open window as if the answer were somewhere hidden in the bright stars.

“It was hard for me to come to admit this, but it’s true. I _am_ a romantic. And a dreamer. And I enjoy good stories.

You can only imagine how hard it is to be all of those things, but also painfully realistic. It’s like being outside a candy shop, but the door is always locked. You can only stare from the outside and wonder how it is like.”

He smiled to himself.

“And with you – with us really – I dared to imagine how it would be like to actually have a happy ending, you know? And, I mean- hm…no. Not a happy ending, but a beginning. Yes, a beginning. Where we would both come to a realization that we’re good together and even though it’s not love, it’s something worth working for, you know? And we would learn to love each other. Or maybe not. But we would give it a shot. And it would be enough for me.”

  
Stiles dared to look back at Derek then. He looked regretful but he was listening intent. “What would happen when I leave then?”

“I wouldn’t stop you and you wouldn’t stay here for me.”

Stiles saw Derek nod in approval, seemingly satisfied with his maturity.

“But somewhere at the back of my mind I would pray that you would say ‘ _Please come with me’.”_

 


End file.
